Summary

Steve gets out of the hospital in two days, but just barely. “I’m fine,” he tells Sam, Nurse Eunjung and the phalanx of doctors assigned to make sure Captain America didn’t bleed out and die and get bad PR all over their nice clean hospital. “I have an advanced healing factor. It’s fine. See? I’m standing.”

Summary

They are stretched out beneath a tree in the far part of the temple garden, Chirrut’s outer robe under them and Baze’s over them because even in the summer Jedha is chill and the ground is packed clay that seems to hold the cold close against itself. Chirrut is humming tunelessly, mindlessly, as though he always needs to be doing something, and his hand has managed to slip under the layers that Baze still wears to find his skin, trace words and runes and designs there, each idle caress something that Baze would happily dissolve into. The touches are light: a breath of wind, a beam of light, a feather, the brush of flower petals, a silk scarf, but they make Baze burn and shift slightly anyway, each one reminding him that he is a creature of bone and blood and skin and desire, that Chirrut is the same, that they are drawn together by something he cannot quite explain except in poetry, which displeases him because those words always seem nebulous, never concrete and exact enough.

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Summary

The clothes they have given him at the facility are made of an expensive cotton. He can tell by the way it lies flush and soft against his skin. The way it does not snag on the metal arm. He has never before been permitted to wear clothes like this—loose, a quiet shade of blue.

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Summary

“You never used to like to sit so far behind me,” Chirrut said.

“There was less to watch out for, then."

Left alone on the downed ship on Eadu, Baze and Chirrut force themselves to process what happened in Jedha City, to confront what the future holds, and to witness just how much the years have changed them both.